


Porn Drift

by anexcessoffeels (headbuttingbears)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Begging, Comeplay, Crying, Established Relationship, F/M, Fantasizing, Femdom, Forced Feminization, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, Massage, Multiple Orgasms, Office Sex, Orgasm Control, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Police Uniforms, Puppy Play, Rough Sex, Sexual Roleplay, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 19:36:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5218181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headbuttingbears/pseuds/anexcessoffeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barba and Rollins bang it out in increasingly creative ways. That's it. That's all there is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Physical Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Porn drift is a term I got from Ali Davis's _True Porn Clerk Stories_ , which is an excellent read btw. In a nutshell, it's when a person gets bored with the same-old and becomes more adventurous in what they're willing to consume.
> 
> These are all a year old, so they take place anytime during seasons 14/15 and the start of 16, though ultimately time is totally irrelevant because who cares, it's PWP. There is _no_ plot. They're also in order of least to most questionable so as usual I ask you heed the tags.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Which is it that hurts, your neck or your back?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this back in November '14. I went through a phase where I was obsessed with the idea of Barba getting a ~sexy back massage~, but this was the only thing to really come of that. Heh.

"And how would you explain-" Barba broke off with a wince, rolling his shoulders. He'd been pointing at the flickering security camera footage paused on the TV. Now he shifted in his chair and dropped his arm, covered too late by rifling through the papers spread across the conference table before him. "How would you explain the suspect's actions, Detective?"

Rollins gave her practiced answer with little thought, attention focused elsewhere. They'd been at it for hours; the visible sky was dark beyond the office windows. It had to be close to ten or eleven o'clock, and over the last two she'd watched Barba grow visibly more uncomfortable. The chairs weren't _that_ bad; there was something else wrong. He was practically squirming in his seat across from her, tilting his head from side to side absently as he scanned some paperwork, underlining something as she spoke.

She paused, trying to remember some petty detail that had been far more memorable at the start of the evening, and gave up when he cracked his neck with an audible pop.

"Fuck," he muttered, rubbing his neck and cringing.

"Are you alright?" Frowning, she sat up a little from her own pretzeled position in one of the low-backed chairs. "Did you want to take a break?"

He froze, glancing up at her before looking back down at the file. "No," he said after a heavy pause. "I'm fine." He probably didn't notice how he continued to fidget, trying to find a comfortable position.

She wanted to say _you don't look fine_ but that really wasn't true – he looked _fine_ as usual. But he didn't look _alright_ , and after he made an abortive reach for a folder a short distance away, killing the attempt with a sharp inhale between clenched teeth, she decided she'd seen enough.

Rollins leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Neck or back?"

He stared at her. He was half out of his chair, one hand braced on the table, fingers spread against the wood surface. He looked like he was stuck.

She sighed. "Which is it that hurts, your neck or your back?"

He thought for a moment, taking a very careful breath. He was fine, he was fine, he was- Not fine. Barba closed his eyes, corners of his mouth twitching. "Shoulders? Neck? Neck."

She nodded and got up, circling around the table to stand behind him. "Sit down," she said, one hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, it won't kill you."

He lowered himself slowly back to his seat, as if he was afraid of breaking something. "What are you doing?" He tried to look up at her over his shoulder but he couldn't manage to twist around.

She set both hands on his tense shoulders, keeping them light. "I'm going to rub your back, if you want. It always helps me – I carry my stress in my shoulders."

What she could see of his expression looked guarded, but after a moment's consideration he exhaled, shoulders dropping minutely from their hunch. "Can't hurt," he grumbled, turning bodily back towards the table and shifting under her hands, sitting up straight.

"I'll try not to," she said, and started off slow, kneading his shoulders. At first they didn't speak beyond the occasional hiss of discomfort from Barba whenever she hit a sore spot – which seemed to be every other second – and her murmured apologies. He started off stiff as a board, but the longer she worked the more he relaxed, coaxed along by her slow-moving hands.

"Did you pull something?" She rubbed circles against the base of his neck with her thumbs.

"Hmm?" He lifted his head when she repeated the question. "Oh. I don't know. Tweaked it maybe, something in my neck…" He gestured vaguely before dropping his chin back to his chest as she massaged his shoulders.

"You know, this would be easier if you weren't wearing so much clothing," she said, regretting her choice of words immediately, hands going still.

His head rose a little.

"I mean-" Rollins rubbed her thumb over the silky material of his vest. "It would be more effective if..." She couldn't find a combination of words that didn't somehow sound like an innuendo.

"I could take it off," he said, turning his head slightly. "My vest. If you don't-"

"Oh, no, I don't mind," she said, but she didn't lift her hands from his shoulders until he'd unbuttoned it and made to shrug it off. Once again he stopped abruptly mid-motion; she could see his jaw clenching. "Here." She tugged the material out of his hands and eased it back and down his arms, folding the garment and setting it on the table.

"Worse than I thought," he said through gritted teeth.

"Fixable," she reassured him, and resumed rubbing his shoulders. Easier now without the vest in the way; she could dig her thumbs into tense muscle, and soon enough he was groaning with relief.

"Better?" She grinned when his head tipped easily to one side as she squeezed his shoulder. Without thinking, she slipped her hands under the straps of his suspenders.

Barba didn't say anything, just nodded vaguely, and she lifted her hands enough to raise the navy blue straps, sliding them off his shoulders to drop loose against his arms.

There were clearly defined wrinkles in his shirt from where the material had been caught under the straps, and she wondered if she hadn't found the source of his problem. Not that she'd say anything; she didn't dare criticize his fashion choices. Instead she focused on rubbing the rest of his back, now far more accessible.

He slumped forward, cheek pillowed against the desk, groaning happily as she swept her palms in firm circles against his shoulder blades. He was broader than she'd realized, she thought absently as she traced the line of his spine with her thumbs, the cotton fabric of his shirt soft to the touch. She tugged at his shoulders, pulling him back up to a sit, and he went without complaint.

"Better?" She leaned over him, tucking her hair back so it wouldn't dangle in his face.

Barba tipped his head back to look straight up at her, eyes dark. "Yes," he said. She could feel it when he swallowed; she had her hand resting against the curve of his neck, thumb brushing his skin over the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. "Yes, that's great, thanks." His voice was husky.

She glanced up at the door – still shut, but unlocked.

He was so warm under her hands, and he was waiting for her to make the first move.

Rollins looked back at him, past his face, down his body at his lap. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" When he didn't say anything, cheeks reddening, she elaborated: "Since you… Got a massage."

He was still staring at her. "Yes," he said again, very quietly, eyes fluttering shut when she stroked her hands over his shoulders.

Her decision was split-second and ill-advised. "Open your pants."

Barba swallowed again but he didn't hesitate to do as she said, nor did he open his eyes.

She leaned over him again, pushing his hands out of the way and pulling his shirt up in the front, out of his pants, before she rubbed her hand over his underwear, pulled taut over his hard cock.

His groan was lower this time, longer as she gave him a slow squeeze.

"Worse than I thought," she said, meaning to keep her voice light and teasing and failing utterly as she pet him, one hand braced on his shoulder.

He arched up slightly, wanting more, but he kept his arms hanging loose at his sides. "Would you…"

"Would I what?" Rollins tucked her hand under the waistband of his underwear, smoothing down wiry curls before finding what she was after.

He huffed when she pressed her palm against the bare skin of his cock. "You know what," he whispered, glaring but incapable of elaborating further.

She tugged his cock up and over the waistband. The elastic must have been uncomfortable, tucked in tight against sensitive flesh, but he didn't complain and he didn't make any move to adjust anything.

Rollins brought her hand up to his mouth. "Spit."

Again his throat worked as he licked her palm, three wet and sloppy swipes of his tongue against her skin that proved more than adequate when she grasped his cock. She gave it a couple of easy strokes, listening to him sigh, before she fisted the head, slow and tight.

Barba moaned, shoulders tensing as she rubbed her thumb over the slit.

She cupped his throat over the loosened knot of his necktie. "Shhh. Relax," she said, watching his face. "That's it. Just relax."

Eyes clenched shut, he made a concentrated effort to drop his shoulders, though he rolled them back convulsively when she continued to work just the end of his cock.

The angle was nothing like what she was used to, and they shouldn't have been doing this at all to begin with, but she couldn't find it in herself to stop. Not now that she had him shifting in his seat for a wholly different reason than before.

She brushed her knuckles down the firm line of his throat, feeling his pulse throb as he panted, "I-I'm going to-"

She released him, pressing her sticky hand against the rucked up undershirt covering his stomach. "You're going to what?"

He moaned unhappily, wriggling in the chair as he rocked his hips futilely. "Rollins," he growled, but he still didn't reach for her, and she knew an empty threat when she heard one.

"Easy," she said, rubbing his stomach soothingly. "Take it easy."

He let out a long, shuddering breath, and it wasn't until he stilled that she touched him again. Her hand was dry this time, but it didn't matter when all she did was brush her flat palm against the leaking tip of his cock, letting him squirm and smear precome on her skin.

Rollins grasped his throat, thumb pressing under his jaw, forcing his head back, feeling as much as hearing the whine bubble out of him. "Please, I-I need-"

She leaned back enough to look at him. "Are you going to come?" Rubbed the head of his cock with two fingers, noting how his eyebrows knit together. It was a pained expression not unlike the one he'd worn earlier when he'd cracked his neck.

"No, and I- Ah-" He sobbed as she circled the slit with her fingertip. "For Christ's sake, Rollins," he said in a rush, hands in fists on his thighs, suspender straps looped and slack over his arms.

She squeezed his throat, fingernails digging in as she gave him a slight shake. "Next time when someone suggests taking a break, don't let your pride-"

"Yeah, yeah, sure, right, anything, just-" he stared up at her, looking a little frantic; she could feel him trembling. "Please, _fuck_ , I just- Please, I need to come, please, Rollins, _please_ -"

She exhaled shakily before taking his cock in hand properly. "Since you asked so nicely, and I know you've had a _very_ long day."

Barba whimpered, face red as she stroked him, grip loose and unbearably dry. "Please, please, please," he babbled, and finally she took pity on him and tightened her hold to pump his cock, and after a few rough strokes he came with a harsh groan, body tensing as come spurted over her fist.

She released his throat, smoothed his necktie down as he shuddered, crying out softly when she continued to fondle him. His hand covered hers, pressing it hard against his cock for a moment before tugging it away by the wrist.

"Jesus Christ," he groaned, pushing her other hand away from his chest and sagging boneless in his chair.

Rollins stood up, back popping. Seemed like she was the stiff one now. She trailed a finger over his now sticky paperwork, snickering. At least his vest had escaped unstained.

He opened one eye to peer at her, then at the table. "Thanks for that," he grumbled, closing his eyes and sinking further into his sprawl.

"It was either there or on your shirt. How's your neck?" She felt an intense urge to wipe her hand on his tie, but resisted. That would not be smart.

He dipped his chin to his chest and rolled his head smoothly from one side to the other before a smile broke across his face. "Better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you as amazed as I am that I never made a happy ending joke? I would never be able to pass up that opportunity nowadays.


	2. Police Brutality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you a secret badge bunny, Mr. Barba? You know 9-1-1 is not actually the quickest way to make a cop come, right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C'mon, every Barba/cop ship needs a fic where they roleplay him getting arrested. I don't make the rules, I just abide by them.

"No, wait-" But she was faster than he'd expected, and she shoved him face-first against the wall, wrenching his hand painfully behind his back. "This is a mistake, a-a misunderstanding," Barba wheezed, the wind knocked out of him.

"You can explain down at the station," she said dispassionately, but her grip tightened on his wrist. There was a jangle, then cold metal pressed hard against his wrist – handcuffs.

Things had taken an abrupt turn. He hadn't been home ten minutes when there was a knock at the door: a bored-looking uniformed cop. Shorter than himself, her blonde hair was pulled back and her blue uniform appeared freshly pressed, name tag shiny and obvious. "Is there something wrong, Officer Rollins?"

Rollins had cocked one hip and hooked her thumbs in her utility belt. "I should be asking you that. We got a report of a disturbance at this address. Mind if I come in and take a quick look around?"

He frowned. "I just got home, I don't see how-"

"This'll just take a moment, sir," she drawled, staring up at him, and he'd shrugged, let her in to wander through the apartment as he removed his jacket. One minute they were talking about a noise complaint, the next thing he knew she had him cornered in his bedroom and was accusing him of… He didn't even know what. Making a false report? The whole thing was a blur, especially after she banged his head against the wall when he tried to pull away. Her free hand was at his collar, pressing his face against the wall, and she pressed her leg in between his own, putting him off-balance.

"Wait, stop, this isn't necessary-"

She grabbed at his other wrist, yanking it behind his back and slapping the cuff around it in one smooth motion.

"This isn't- I'm a district attorney, for Christ's sake, I've been nothing but co-operative, I didn't mean-"

She ignored him, kicking his feet apart, forcing him to lean forward against the wall in order to stay upright. "I'm going to search you now. You got anything sharp on you, anything that's going to stick me?" Her hands started to move down his arms briskly, then patted over his hips.

"No, of course not." Barba licked his lips, trying to get a glimpse of her over his shoulder. He could feel her hands, pressing firmly as she patted down first one leg, then the other. As she moved back up his body, slower, he shifted, trying to find a more comfortable way to stand. "This really isn't necessary," he said again as her hands moved up the sides of his thigh. "You don't need to do this. Can't we- Can't we work something out?"

She paused, fingers absently tracing the inner seam of his pant leg. "Are you trying to bribe me, Mr. Barba?"

"No! No, of course not, that would be illegal, not to mention unethical. It's just- You seem like a reasonable person, and…" He swallowed, flexing his hands. He was starting to think the cuffs were on too tight. "There must be something I can do. This doesn't need to escalate any further."

Rollins stood, crowding him, his hands trapped between their bodies. "Typical lawyer, always looking to cut a deal," she hissed into his ear, fingers tight around his biceps. She backed away, tugging at his shoulder and turning him around to face her.

"I know people," he said, anxiety growing as she resumed frisking him. "I could put in a good word for you, whatever you want, anything-"

Again she paused, fingers spanning his waist, thumbs pressing against his stomach. He swallowed thickly when she locked eyes with him. "Anything?"

His heart was pounding. "Whatever you want." Her hands continued downwards, skipping over his belt to return to his thighs, rubbing over the soft material of his pants. "Please don't take me in," he whispered. "I can't- I'll get disbarred."

She cocked her head, considering him, one hand going to rest on his belt buckle, giving it a thoughtful tug. " _Anything?_ " She pushed her leg between his and cupped his crotch with her other hand. "What if I want _this_?"

"Are you serious?" Barba laughed in disbelief. She didn't say anything, and his laughter died quickly. He sighed and looked past her, leaning his shoulders back against the wall, trying to keep from resting on his hands, and spreading his legs minutely, only partly for balance. "Are you going to arrest me?"

"Not if you give me a good reason not to," she said, and pushed her hand between his legs and gave his balls a rough squeeze, smirking when he gasped. She let him go just as suddenly and stepped away, grabbing his necktie and yanking him forward by it. "You're right, I can be very reasonable," she said, shoving him towards the bed.

He tripped over his own feet and almost fell, only catching himself at the last minute, but it didn't make a difference in the end because Rollins was behind him, shoving again, and he flopped onto the mattress hard, shoes knocking against the floor. The cuffs were biting into his wrists; he squirmed and pushed his knees into the duvet, intending to move further onto the bed or sit up or roll over or _something_ , he wasn't sure what yet. Then a hand between his shoulder blades pushed him down, and he froze.

"Just… Don't move," she said, and patted his back once before retreating. He didn't move, even when he heard a clatter as something big and heavy hit the floor followed by a couple of thumps. Then, more recognizable: the sound of a zipper. He shifted uncomfortably, wanting to see but not willing to push his luck, wishing his pants were a little looser and that he wasn't lying face-down.

The hand returned to grab his arm and roll him over, and he hissed when he landed on his hands, jabbed hard into the small of his back. Rollins grabbed his necktie again and pulled him up to a seated position, ignoring the choked noises he made. He had barely any time to resettle, sitting up with his feet planted firmly on the floor, before she was bent over him, tugging at his belt buckle again. He watched her busy hands for a moment until he noticed how her shirt gaped open, and he wiggled his fingers, wishing he could unbutton it the rest of the way, stroke his fingers over her plain white bra, cup her breasts.

Then she was standing, yanking on his belt. It slithered free from his pants and she considered the length of leather, folding it in half and snapping it. The cracking sound made him shiver, and when she smiled Barba knew she'd noticed. She was not, he realized, wearing any pants. They were in a pile on the floor, along with her socks and shoes and utility belt.

She snapped the belt again and he jumped, heart racing as he looked back up at her. She unfolded it, rolled it into a small loop around her fist as he stared at her, breathing quick as he raked his eyes up her bare legs, wondering if she was still wearing underwear. If only her shirt was a little shorter, he'd know for sure.

Rollins tapped his cheek with the coiled belt, getting his attention. "Now, Counselor, remember our deal: make this worth my while and you'll be free to go."

He nodded, and she set the belt on the bedside table before starting on his pants. She had them open in a flash, and he sighed softly in relief and shifted, making it easier for her to tug his pants and underwear down to mid-thigh.

"You kinky bastard," she said, smothering a smile as she fondled his balls. He flexed his hands, fingers tingling. "Are you a secret badge bunny, Mr. Barba? You know 9-1-1 is not actually the quickest way to make a cop come, right?"

"I plead the fifth," he said, eyes tightly shut, gritting his teeth and rocking his hips as she rubbed the underside of his cock.

There was a dip in the mattress, and he leaned back, stomach clenching as she climbed onto his lap, one hand going to press his cock between her legs, where wetness and silky curls brushed tantalizingly against the head.

"Well, that's your constitutional right," she said, gripping his shoulders to balance herself, knees planted in the bed. The material of his shirt bunched in her fists, she rocked forward in his lap so his cock dragged along her cunt.

All Barba wanted to do was grab her by the hips, hold her still so he could push into her, and he couldn't. He dropped his head to her shoulder, moaning as he rocked up against her, working his hips as best she'd let him. The ache in his shoulders was extending down his arms, he couldn't spread his legs as far as he'd like, and the knot of his tie was crooked.

But Rollins was heavy in his lap, her chest pressed to his as she moved against him, fingernails scratching up over the nape of his neck, and the cuffs were too damn tight. And maybe it was that last that tipped the scales, but he realized all of a sudden that if she kept grinding on him the way she was then he was going to come in embarrassingly short order.

He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath, trying to ignore how warm and slick she felt. She jerked his tie; he ignored it, shaking his head. He was _not_ going to come yet. He wasn't eighteen, surely he had more self-control than a worked-up high school kid.

She jerked it again, hard enough to make his head bob forward, but still he ignored her, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't open them until he felt her arm between them, her fingertips brushing his cock, and he watched as she pushed her shirt up enough so he could see when she rubbed her clit.

He tensed, pulling against the cuffs, breathing as hard as she was and wishing it was his fingers moving against her.

"Fuck," Rollins said, biting her lip, sliding her hand along his shoulder to cup his neck, thumb rubbing the corner of his jaw as he panted open-mouthed. He could feel it when her fingers moved faster on her clit, when she started to shake and squirm in his lap, and he rocked up against her, feeling wetness and heat and it was too much, it was all too much, and he came with a groan, shuddering beneath her.

He wasn't at his best. That was why it took him so long to notice her sudden stillness. He opened his eyes; she was staring at him intently, lips pursed.

"I thought you said you'd make this worth my while," she said slowly.

Barba's blush was burning hot and immediate. "I-"

"You didn't even fuck me," she continued. "Now what the fuck am I supposed to do? Wait until you can? Unlike you, I don't have all night. I'm on the clock."

"I'm sorry," he said, face red. He shifted under her, uncomfortable. "If it's any consolation, I didn't mean to?"

"I should arrest you just for being a tease," she muttered, patting his chest, her fingers glistening over his wrinkled shirt. She stared at him for a beat and he wondered if that was it, if they were done. Then she reached down and took his cock in her hand, gave it a deep squeeze.

He fucking _yelped_ – he couldn't help it, just like he couldn't help trying to get away. Not that there was anywhere for him to go, especially not after Rollins insisted on shoving him back to collapse onto the bed. He landed painfully on his cuffed hands, the warm metal biting into his wrists.

"I admit, I'm not the most patient person. It's an impulse control issue, something I've been working on." She gave his sensitive cockhead a couple of short pumps before releasing him, climbing off and dragging him further up the bed by his shoulders.

Barba knew it was pointless to struggle but he couldn't help it; he rolled onto his side to relieve some of the pressure on his arms, but it didn't make much of a difference. He couldn't feel his hands. "What the hell-"

"But this isn't about me," she said like that was any explanation, pushing him onto his back again and yanking at his clothes, dragging his pants and underwear further down his legs until they were at his knees. Then, to his dismay, she crawled back onto the bed and over him, straddled his thighs and sat down heavily, holding him in place. "This is about you learning not to let your mouth write checks that your ass can't cash."

His breath caught in his chest as he stared down the length of his body, watching as her hand disappeared between her legs before darting back out to grip his cock again. He didn't need to wonder what she was using as lube.

"Do you want me to take you in?" Rollins dug her knees into his hips when he tried to shift away. "I could stop all of this right now and drag you down to the station where everyone would see."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, don't. We- I can- Give me another chance."

Her eyes narrowed but her hand didn't move, and for one crazy, stupid moment he thought that would be it. But it wasn't. "You're lucky I'm so nice." Her hand slid up, up the shaft, to cup over the sensitive head and palm it, smearing his own come over it as he let out a cry. "Anyone else would've busted you. Making a false report is a serious crime, you know."

He arched under her, whimpering as he tried to dislodge her, tried to get away from the hand on his cock. But there was nowhere to go, and he was probably never going to have feeling in his hands again.

"Is it the uniform?"

Barba opened his eyes, confused at her sudden change of tone. Rollins was leaning over him, cheeks pink, locks of blonde hair hanging loose from her bun. A single tapered fingertip brushed against the slit once, twice, three times, with growing pressure. There was a sudden, high-pitched sound; he'd whimpered again without realizing it, and when Rollins pressed two fingers to his cockhead and rubbed, he whined louder, sweat breaking out fresh across his body, making his clothes even more uncomfortable.

"Please-"

"It is, isn't it? The whole cop thing. You can say it, it's okay." Her hand shifted away, and he nearly sighed in relief until he felt her fingertips sweep lightly up the sides of the shaft. His balls clenched. "Guys love the uniform."

"It's- God, no, it's not that," he said, writhing, panicking like an animal caught in a trap when she held his cockhead between two fingers and rubbed it fast with her thumb. And he _was_ trapped – handcuffed, pinned to the bed, and, as if that wasn't enough, Rollins wrapped his tie around her fist once, twice. If he hadn't been propped up the way he was, he would have choked again. "Damn it, Rollins, _c'mon_ -"

"Tell me what it is and I'll stop," she said, hand stilling. He could feel a bead of sweat roll down his temple. "Off the record. I promise not to hold it against you in court."

He couldn't look anywhere else, couldn't tear his eyes away from her face. Because if he looked anywhere else it was going to be at her hand on his cock, not moving but agonizing nonetheless. "It's not the uniform," he repeated frantically, and God damn him but he arched into it when her hand screwed over the head of his cock, smearing a trickle of precome across her palm.

"You know, I've never managed to make a man come twice in a row," Rollins said, jacking him, the sound of skin on skin a counterpoint to his constant noises of distress. "Does it normally take this long?"

"Jesus Christ, I said I was sorry," Barba sobbed. "Oh, Jesus Christ."

She tugged on his tie, making him arch up towards her. "Just tell me. Tell me what you like and I'll stop." Her hand sped up on his cock.

It felt like he was being skinned alive. His vision blurred, and he blinked hard, trying to clear the tears. A distant part of his mind was surprised he had any liquid left in his body for crying.

"Tell me and I'll let you go." Fingernails scraped along the shaft of his cock as she smoothed his tie down, over his damp shirt. She raised her free hand, smiling. "Scout's honor."

"Oh God," he said, voice cracking. "It's the handcuffs, _fuck_ , it's the cuffs, it's not the uniform-" and he came, groaning, tears rolling down his cheeks, the sight of a rivulet of come issuing from the slit of his cock and dribbling over Rollins's fingers nearly incomprehensible.

"Really? Huh." Her face took on a thoughtful expression while her come-slick fingers continued to absently stroke him. Then all at once she seemed to notice how close to hyperventilating he was and she let him go, wiping her hand on his shirt and clambering off his legs.

Barba rolled onto his side, needing to get away. Gasping more than breathing, he pressed his sweaty, tear-streaked face into the bed, ignoring the sounds of Rollins moving around the room.

The mattress dipped behind him; there was a tugging at his wrists, a click, and suddenly his hands were free. He hissed as he moved his arms, gingerly stretching them out across the bed before him, letting his hands dangle off the edge, his pants and underwear still twisted around his knees. His heart was still pounding like he'd just run a ten-minute mile.

Rollins rubbed his aching shoulder. "Y'all right?"

"Give me a minute," he grumbled, staring at his red wrists. There was a sharp tingle in his arms – it would be worse when the blood finally reached his hands. "You were early," he said. "Barely got in the door."

"Sorry, I've got an early start tomorrow." She patted him once on the hip, like she couldn't resist, and moved away. "Was that everything you'd hoped it would be?" She sounded unsure.

He laid there, cataloging the variety of aches and pains present throughout his body, wondering how long it would take him to work up the necessary energy to strip. He was going to have to ice his wrists, not to mention clean up. And he wasn't going to be able to jerk off for a week. _Fuck_. "Yeah," he said, lips curling in a crooked grin.

When he finally peeked over his shoulder at her, she was sitting on the bed and finger-combing her sweaty hair, rosy and a little nervous-looking. She needed a shower more than he did. "So what was that, good cop or bad cop? Please say bad cop, the alternative is terrifying."

She didn't drop her head quickly enough to hide her pleased grin. "Wouldn't you like to know," she said, twisting a lank lock of hair around her finger. "I guess you'll find out next time."

"Next time?" He turned away and heaved a breath, watching his fingers as he wiggled them. "Next time you should probably remember to Mirandize me. Rookie mistake."

She slapped his hip.


	3. OT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had started off… Rollins wouldn't say "innocently enough," because that simply wasn't true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not sure if the title stands for "Over Time" or "Obedience Training."

"Wait, _what?_ You- Who loses an entire box of evidence?!"

Rollins had gotten rather good at recognizing an incoming Barba shitfit when she saw one. He wasn't yelling – he never _yelled_ , not exactly, not unless he was in court, but the volume definitely rose to the barest edge of professionally acceptable sometimes – but he was clearly worked up, pacing back and forth.

After paying attention for the two seconds it took her to figure out the situation wasn't in her purview, Rollins promptly started tuning him out. And to think, they'd gotten so much accomplished that afternoon. She sipped her coffee, watching Barba wander his office, chewing out whatever poor bastard was manning the evidence room desk. This could go on for a while, and often did, but she'd developed her own way of passing the time.

It had started off… Rollins wouldn't say "innocently enough," because that simply wasn't true. But when it had started, it hadn't been as admittedly fucked up as it was now. It had been a couple of years ago, in pretty much the same scenario – going over case notes, Barba'd noticed some key piece of evidence was missing, cue freakout. She'd watched him then the way she did now, but back then it had been tinged with more apprehension ( _what if he turned on her?_ ) than admiration ( _way to get results_ ). But the longer he'd gone on, expressing some very righteous fury, the more she'd found him… Attractive.

Not that he wasn't normally nice to look at, but watching him on a justice- and caffeine-fueled rampage was sort of… Well, she wanted to chalk it up to some weird kind of Stockholm Syndrome, but it wasn't precisely that. "Glad you're on our side," someone had said to him once – had it been her? She couldn't remember. But she _was_ glad.

So Rollins had watched him, and with nothing else to do – impossible to get any work done when the only other person in the room had been on a tear – she'd started to daydream. Well, fantasize, really.

And yeah, it had started off fairly mundane. Slapping his phone away and kissing him. Slapping his phone away, pushing him up against the desk, and blowing him. Slapping his phone away and- Look, she _hated_ his phone. Rollins wasn't jealous of it, but texting while holding a conversation was just plain rude, she didn't care how work-related it was. As a result, a lot of her fantasies involved slapping that thing right across the room and hearing it break into a million pieces.

Makeouts to blowjobs to fucking on his desk. One time he'd been on the phone for so long that she'd managed to – in her mind at least – come four times when he'd gone down on her. She'd pictured him stopping mid-sentence, realizing how terribly rude he'd been for ignoring her, and dropped his phone all on his own – straight into the trash can with a viscerally satisfying bang. Then he'd gotten on his knees and apologized, asking how he could _ever_ make it up to her, and Rollins was pretty sure that's when she got stuck on this whole line of thinking.

Barba on his knees, that was. Apologizing. Apologizing to _her_ for _his_ bad behavior.

Talk about out of character. But then, it was _her_ fantasy, after all. She could always dare to dream.

And here they were again, Barba jawing about shit that was ultimately out of his control while Rollins bounced her plastic stir stick against her cup and struggled to think what exactly it was that he reminded her of. There was something about his tone today, something a little more grating than usual. Something… Whiny. He just kept going on and on and _on_ , like a yappy dog. A whiny, yappy little dog.

She imagined smacking him across the face with a rolled up newspaper and smiled.

Wouldn't hit him too hard, of course. Not much more than a tap, enough to shut him up, and he'd make the same face he did when a perp had goosed him as the cops escorted out of the interrogation room – eyes gone comically wide, cheeks scarlet. Thoroughly shocked. But when Rollins struck him he'd drop his phone, of course. _Crack_ , million pieces, not that he'd notice or care.

"Be quiet," she'd say. "Be good and be _quiet_."

He'd close his mouth, swallow. Normally his posture was excellent, but now he'd be ashamed of himself, so his shoulders would hunch in embarrassment.

She dropped the newspaper to the table and sat back down in her chair, enjoying the silence as he shuffled forward at her crooked finger, drop to his knees when she pointed to the floor. No finger-snapping, no _down_ for him – he's well-trained. All that schooling had to pay off somehow.

He'd set his hands on her knees, lean into her touch as she stroked a hand over his hair, scratched his head lightly and messed up his razor-sharp part. "You're quite the whiner today," she said, noting how the tips of his ears pinked. "What's wrong, not getting enough attention? Is that it? You want more?"

Barba closed his eyes, ducked his head so she could scratch the back of his neck. His hair was too short to get a proper grip on, but she'd never been picky. Short-haired breeds never bothered her.

She kept petting him, smiling indulgently at his contented sigh, and grabbed his chin, forced him to look at her. "If you wanted attention, all you had to do was ask nicely," she said. "I know exactly what bitches like you are really whining for."

That time his entire face went pink, and his eyes were very round as he looked up at her. But it was an imploring expression now, not a shocked one, and he made no move to stop her when she unbuckled his belt and pulled it free, dropped it on the floor in order to unbutton his pants.

"Down," she had to say this time, and he _was_ well-trained because he didn't hesitate, didn't ask or wonder what she meant. Down meant lower, hands and knees; he's in position, ready before she was, and the tables have turned because now he was waiting on her.

Rollins didn't bother to think out the logistics, just pictured herself pantsless, kneeling behind him, adjusting the straps of the harness as she considered him. Pulled his pants and underwear down his thighs, pushed his striped dress shirt up where it came untucked before pressing her hand to the hot bare skin of the small of his back. "Down," she said again. He's a few inches taller; it would be awkward if he weren't so cooperative, so eager to please, and he spread his legs a bit more, went from putting his weight on his hands to leaning on his forearms.

She patted him, pleased. "If only everyone was as co-operative." He huffed but was otherwise quiet, content to wait silently the way he never would ordinarily.

Rollins stroked a hand over her silicone cock, slicking it with lube, warming the synthetic material and checking that it was locked securely in the harness. It would be fair-sized, filling, and when she scooted in closer to Barba, took her fake cock in hand and rubbed the head down his crack, he'd make a very small noise.

"Shhh," she said, palming his hip, and she'd push into his ass in one long, slow forward thrust, not bothering to stretch him with her fingers or slick him up. Dogs, after all, didn't do foreplay, and right now neither would she. There was pain, of course, and she waited, massaging small circles into his lower back, listening to him gasp. She didn't want to hurt him, but the pain was good for him. It made the eventual pleasure better. Worth it.

Finally his gasping died down to heavy breathing, and he pushed back against her the way she knew he would eventually. She gripped his waist and rocked back, then forward, giving him a leisurely stroke with the first two-thirds of her cock. All he could handle at the moment, but he handled it well.

She found her rhythm quickly, setting a rolling pace that had Barba whimpering. Not the perfect quiet she asked for, but his small, instinctive sounds reminded her how loud he was before. They urge her on in working him open, and they've made sizeable progress on that last third when she blew the hair out of her eyes and grinned. His head was hanging between his shoulders as he panted in time with her thrusts, his palms pressed flat to the floor, and she couldn't resist reaching forward, scratching her nails up the back of his sweaty neck through his hair.

"Good girl," she said, and he curved beneath her, raising his head and groaning as she fucked him. "You needed this, didn't you? It's okay, honey, it's okay." Skated her hand back down, over the damp expanse of rucked up shirt, pushed up his sweat-soaked white undershirt and settled on his ass, squeezing, parting, checking her progress. "Such a good girl," she murmured, and pushed into him.

Barba's breath hitched when the knot pressed against his hole, already stretched around her length.

"You've been so good, you deserve a reward," she said, slowing her strokes, shortening them so that the knot rubbed against him a little longer every time. Getting him used to it, and she slid her hand over his side to his stomach, swept down his body to his cock, half-hard between his legs. When she touched him it was just with her fingertips, feeling him, and he whined, jerked his hips forward, towards her hand.

Rollins pulled away, out of reach. "Be good," she said warningly, thrusting into him a littler harder than usual, watched his body rock with her. He slumped forward that last crucial distance, knees sliding as far apart at his pants, caught around his knees, will allow. Angled his ass perfectly for her, and she knew he was ready. Could see it in his face – cheek pillowed on one arm, the other arm outstretched, fingers spread helplessly against the floor like he was hoping for something to grab onto as he panted open-mouthed. Flushed, hair a mess, eyes drifting shut when she touched the head of his cock again.

"That's it," she said, teased him with her fingers before leaning back one last time, holding his ass cheeks open to watch as she bore down against him, not letting up, and Barba whimpered. She watched as the knot pressed firmly against him, shiny and slick, and for a moment nothing happened. Then, impossibly, the still-tight ring of muscle stretched obscenely further, swallowed her knot, disappeared it into his body as he let out a sound that would be called a yelp if it wasn't so drawn out.

"Oh, you wonderful girl," she said, twitching her hips the bare distance she could, made him yelp for real when the knot pulled against him. She bent over him, wrapped an arm around his waist and clung tight, jerked her hips just the once because she couldn't resist.

Her free hand returned to his cock, soft now, and she tugged him. When he turned his head and bit his lip hard, the urge to work his ass, fuck him deeper than before, rose almost too fast for her to resist. Instead, she focused on letting him adjust, on getting him hard again. It didn't take long, and soon enough he was making abortive movements of his own, trying to get more of her hand, groaning when she released him.

"I know, I know," Rollins said as she gave his belly a rough rub, felt soft hair and his body tremble. When her fingers brushed over the very tip of his leaking cockhead, it was largely accidental.

"Ah!" His hips jerked, pulling her with him, brows knit in consternation.

"That's it," she said. "If you want it you need to work for it, honey." She nestled in close as she could, until his ass was snug against her pelvis, before she gave him a maddeningly loose stroke with her hand that made him cry out. He rolled his hips forward again, managed to push the head into the circle of her fist before the knot caught and he had to rock back. Barba must realize immediately what she intended because his eyes rolled shut and he sagged beneath her and gave up.

"C'mon, c'mon, darling," she said as he began to move under her, fucking himself as best he could manage. She was buried deep, deeper than he ever normally got, but she knew that was exactly what he needed to cure his frustration, his aggressive temper, and as he shifted under her, pulled her with him, she was sad she couldn't do more. "God, if you could see yourself," she whispered, jerking his hard cock with just her finger and thumb. "So gorgeous, such a gorgeous bitch. I wish I could breed you properly-"

He groaned, loud and ragged, and came, spattering the floor with fluid, and she seized the opportunity to jerk her hips back sharply, freed her knot from his ass all at once, causing him to gasp, and she was wondering how much time he'd need to recover enough to clean up the mess he made on the floor with his tongue when she realized that Barba was staring at her and probably had been for some time.

Blushing, Rollins sat up in her chair, pulling the coffee stir stick from her mouth. A glance showed it was chewed to hell.

Barba slapped his phone against his palm, regarding her with one raised eyebrow. "You didn't hear a thing I just said, did you?"

She dropped the stick into her empty coffee cup. "Hanging on every word, Counselor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this right before I wrote "(don't stop until your heart goes) numb," if that's not obvious given the subject matter. :'D


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